


tell me it's all right

by tropicalnlghts



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Another Pirate!Ateez fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jung Wooyoung-centric, M/M, Octopath inspired, Slow Burn, Wooyoung has trust issues i'm sorry, dancer wooyoung
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalnlghts/pseuds/tropicalnlghts
Summary: This dagger is his favorite. It’s a precious family heirloom and Wooyoung keeps it tucked under his pillow, biding his time. Soon he'll be able to use it, soon he'll have his revenge. For now, he takes a deep breath.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jung Wooyoung & Everyone, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first work in ateez and well, kpop in general. and i know pirate aus are like, a thing in this fandom (for obvious reasons lol) but i just couldn't help myself. also there's barely any wooyoung-centric fics here which is something i just had to fix. i was inspired by the video game octopath and was originally going to make a truer au but i fell in love with wooyoung's story, which i based off primrose's path. i diverge from the octopath plot almost immediately but still the inspiration is there.
> 
> as for the rape/non-con tag, i felt the need to clarify, there is NO RAPE SCENE. it is only implied! my story is also a weird case because while the character is certainly not consenting, he sees it as a necessary evil and is rather apathetic to the concept. --THIS IS STILL RAPE! consent out of a feeling of obligation IS NOT CONSENT! just to make it clear. 
> 
> as for ships, i'm still deciding whether to keep the main as woosan or if it'll turn into a poly ot8 ship. i'll figure it out as we go, if anyone has suggestions too leave them in the comments!
> 
> ok thats enough ranting, hope you enjoy~

Wooyoung wakes up with a gasp. The floor beneath him is hard and unforgiving and his neck is sore as he lifts it from the ground, sitting fully up.

“Always the same dream,” he mutters to himself. Wooyoung places a hand over his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow from its rapid pace. 

“I wish I had your confidence, Wooyoung,” a snide voice says, and Wooyoung looks up to see a group of three women, dressed in flashy and revealing outfits, staring down at him, sneering. The woman—and for the life of him, Wooyoung cannot remember her name—in the middle steps forward, the bracelets around her wrist jingle as she crosses her arms. “I couldn’t imagine nodding off just minutes before my cue.” 

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything back, she’s just baiting him. He stands up and finds the tiny mirror in the corner of the performers’ shared quarters and makes sure his hair isn’t a mess from his nap.

Out of the corner of the reflection he can see the woman turn back to her friends, telling them in a staged whisper, “How nice it must be to be the master’s favorite.”

Wooyoung grits his teeth and lets out the smallest of scoffs. He won’t let them get to him—or at least, he won’t let them know it does.

“Fine then,” the woman says loudly. “Keep your airs. Act as though you’re better than the rest of us.”

One of the women who were previously silent pipes in this time, “It doesn’t change the fact you’re just another dancer in the sands, Wooyoung. Nothing but a kept man, here to flatter the dignity of the men and women who pay for the privilege.”

“I guess you’re right,” Wooyoung says. The women blink. They clearly didn’t expect him to lie there and take it. But it’s what has been beaten into him since he arrived, so he doesn’t know why they’re so surprised.

“Don’t you all have something better to do?” another voice says, all eyes turn to the source. It’s Yeonjun, sitting on his cot in the corner. “I've seen your footwork, Minhee, you should maybe think of cleaning it up instead of running your mouth.”

Wooyoung sends Yeonjun a small smile, and he returns it easily.

Minhee turns red, out of anger or embarrassment Wooyoung can't tell—probably a mixture of both. The woman beside her nudges her. “C’mon it’s not worth it. Oh, I can hear the master coming!”

All the performers, Wooyoung included, straighten up at that, and scramble to make themselves look presentable—more than presentable were it possible. The doorknob jiggles and there he is in all his sleazy glory, the master of the house, Byungchul. Wooyoung makes the mistake of making eye contact, Byungchul sends him a salacious grin and Wooyoung quickly averts his gaze. 

Byungchul suddenly claps his hands. “Well?” he says, the smile no longer on his face. He’s angry, staring at the other performers. “Do you not have customers waiting? Go! Not you.” He grabs Wooyoung by the shoulder, Wooyoung tries not to shiver. 

The group of women struggle to leave the room at once, Yeonjun follows them wordlessly and when he passes by he spares Wooyoung a sympathetic look. 

“Now why the long face? I can’t have my gorgeous ladybug getting wrinkles. Bad for business,” Byungchul says once they’re the only ones left in the room. He laughs as though he made the funniest joke in the world. Wooyoung remains silent. 

“What a bunch of useless strays,” Byungchul says. Wooyoung startles. The master has a tendency to jump subjects often but it doesn’t make it any less jarring. “You’re the only one I can rely on, Wooyoungie.” And the next thing he knows, the master is in his space, bringing a hand up and caressing Wooyoung’s cheek. Wooyoung stands perfectly still, tries to calm his breathing. 

“You flatter me, Master,” Wooyoung says.

“Nonsense,” the master says. “Since you stepped on stage our custom has increased tenfold.” The master lets the compliment rest before he takes Wooyoung’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts his head up to meet their eyes. “Of course, don’t you go forgetting who groomed you for this role.”

“Of course, master,” Wooyoung says. Wooyoung could never forget even if he wanted to.

The master smiles, lets go of Wooyoung. “Go on, then. Attend to your clients.”

Wooyoung scurries out the door the moment the command leaves his lips.

-

Wooyoung knows what the others think about him. That he’s the master’s favorite and therefore gets better treatment. But he sleeps on the same ratty cots as them, eats the same bland stew as them, gets the same cheap customers as them. 

Being the master’s favorite earns him another hour in a soft bed, on his back, and nothing more.

His fellow dancers eat together in the crowded bedroom, their bunks on one side and a short table on the other. They sit scattered but still uncomfortably close, there’s not enough room for all of them, let alone enough dinner. Wooyoung scarfs down his as quickly as he can without choking and sits back. All he can do now is wait for night to fall. It never fails to drive him crazy. 

“In your head as always,” Yeonjun says. He crawls over and bumps his shoulder into Wooyoung companionably, he's the only tolerable person in the whole village. “Really, Youngie, you oughta tell me how the clouds are.”

“Nonexistent,” Wooyoung says, dry as the desert they live in. The sight of even a single cloud would be welcome, rather than the unrelenting sun.

“One day I’ll find your sense of humor,” Yeonjun says wistfully. He blows his blue bangs out of his eyes only for them to fall right back. Wooyoung has always been a bit fascinated in that particular habit of his, only because it seems to hold no real purpose. “And when I do, we’ll pop the bottles I hide under my pillow.”

Wooyoung whips his head around, looking left and right at their fellow dancers but nobody’s paying them the slightest attention. He sighs in relief. “Yeonjun, don’t tell me you stole it off a customer?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Youngie,” Yeonjun says waving him off. “Jimin-hyung snuck me some.”

Of course, Wooyoung thinks. “Of course,” he says. 

“It just goes to show, there’s perks in being the barkeep’s favorite,” Yeonjun says loftily. “Maybe if you were a bit nicer…”

“Excuse you, Jimin-hyung loves me,” Wooyoung says. “He called me the little brother he never had just the other day.”

Yeonjun gains a wicked grin. “That’s because you’re the only one here who’s actually _littler_ than him.”

“Yah!” Wooyoung shrieks and digs his fingers into Yeonjun’s armpits. Yeonjun squeals and tries to run away.

There’s a few minutes of wrestling, or mostly a quiet scuffle because neither of them want the other performers looking over, before Yeonjun yields and Wooyoung graciously stops tickling him.

“There’s the Wooyoung I remember,” Yeonjun says between panting breaths. He looks over with a twinkle in his eyes and Wooyoung swallows, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yeonjun,” Wooyoung says.

Yeonjun holds up a hand. “I get it. Really, I do. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. This place is killing you, it’s killing me too.”

Wooyoung tries to say something but he can’t get anything out past the sudden dryness of his throat. 

“I just wish,” Yeonjun says and sighs. His chin lands on his chest as he stares down at his hands. “I wanna get out of here too, you know? Once our debt is paid—” his hands clench, “we can go anywhere. You want that too, right?”

“...I do. We’ll be able to leave eventually,” Wooyoung says and it’s less of a dream and more of a promise. “We’ll. We—We’ll go see the ocean, once we’re out.”

“Maybe we should start small,” Yeonjun says but he’s smiling now. “Like a lake, or something.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says and the words taste like ash on his tongue. “Start small.”

-

Wooyoung is the favorite.

The master’s favorite, the customers' favorite, the tavern’s favorite.

“Introducing,” the host says and Wooyoung takes a deep breath. “The lovely ladybug Wooyoung!”

It’s almost a joke. His signature outfit is a mismatch of red and black, and he’s heard by many that he’s got features pretty enough to fit a woman. Wooyoung keeps his cringe to himself because the eyes of the crowd hold everything but humor as he strikes his pose. Wooyoung waits for the music to kick in. He catches the eye of Jimin, behind the bar counter, who sends him a small reassuring smile. Wooyoung takes another deep breath.

At least, Wooyoung tells himself, he can dance. He loves dancing, and not even the leers of the audience can stop him from enjoying stepping left and right and twirling here and rolling there. 

It’s all too soon that he finds his ending pose, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his forehead. It’s going to ruin his makeup, the master won’t be happy. The tavern crowd eats it up though, their cheers and whistles are deafening, and Wooyoung wants to bask in the attention but it’s not him they love, it’s his looks, and it’s not his dance they’ve bought for the night but his body. 

Wooyoung briefly fantasizes the thought of telling those greasy old men and salacious women to fuck off and gods, wouldn’t that be a sight. The master would probably combust on the spot, and wouldn’t that be an even better sight. Wooyoung’ll have to tell Yeonjun this daydream later, he’d get a kick out of it.

As always, the master is there at the staircase leading to the tables, his hand is outreached to Wooyoung and the accompanying smile is lecherous. Wooyoung has to fight down bile. He settles on a solemn expression, his eyes lidded just enough to be seductive. 

“There’s my lovely ladybug,” Byungchul says and his hand moves to the small of Wooyoung’s back. It takes all of Wooyoung’s strength not to shiver. “Wasn’t he a sight to behold?” The master asks the men and women nearest to him, to which they respond with raucous cheering. 

“You’ve got just one tonight,” the master says in Wooyoung’s ear and Wooyoung startles. “He’s an important benefactor. I don’t think I need to tell you the consequences should there be any complications.” And here his hand grabs at Wooyoung’s hip, tight, and the other one takes his jaw into his grasp. Wooyoung hisses. “I’d just hate to hurt this pretty face of yours. It’s so useful.”

_I bet you would_ , Wooyoung thinks furiously. “Of course, sir,” he says aloud, nice and demure. The perfect picture of submission.

The master smiles, but there’s too many teeth showing for comfort. “This is why you’re my favorite,” he says.

-

The benefactor is nothing special. Wooyoung just thinks it funny how fussy the master had been when Wooyoung knows better how malleable men are when their pride is met with a warm mouth. 

The benefactor remains on the bed, spread indecently and Wooyoung has to fight the instinctual sneer off his face. This pathetic man has a soft bed to return home to, probably has a wife and a few kids to return home to, and yet Wooyoung is the loser of the night. Wooyoung takes a deep breath to regain some semblance of control, while he shuffles his boxers and dress pants on. The benefactor opens his eyes to the sight of Wooyoung buttoning up his dancer outfit. He’s going to have to get this cleaned if he wants to perform in it again. How annoying.

“Leaving so soon?” The benefactor says, pouting. Wooyoung would slap the expression off his face if he could.

“The night’s calling to me,” Wooyoung says instead. He makes sure to keep his voice light, innocent in the way he knows these kinds of men love. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course,” the man says, and gods, Wooyoung doesn’t even know his name. The benefactor stands up and steps towards Wooyoung, caressing his cheek. “A pretty little thing like you can’t be tamed, can you?”

“Never,” Wooyoung says, and that’s one thing he _can_ promise.

-

Wooyoung grips a small silver dagger, the hilt is embezzled with amethyst that always shimmers when put into the sunlight. This dagger is his favorite. It’s a family heirloom, Wooyoung keeps it tucked under his pillow. He can only be thankful the master never deigns to enter their sleeping quarters. How fitting it will be, in that case, when Wooyoung is called to the master’s own quarters and the man finds himself with a dagger in the back.

Yeonjun is passed out beside him, blissfully unaware, and Wooyoung falls asleep to the sound of his snoring.

-

“Jimin-hyung,” Wooyoung says, sitting on a stool at the counter. It’s morning and there’s barely anyone there, Wooyoung prefers it to the night crowd. 

“Ah, my Wooyoungie!” Jimin says, his eyes tilt up at the corners and Wooyoung has to smile back. “What can I do for you?”

It wouldn’t be easy. Wooyoung knew that, he told himself countless times, but Jimin’s patient gaze still manages to freeze him in place. He can’t help but swallow thickly.

“Hyung, I—” Wooyoung cuts himself off, quiet. Jimin sets down the empty glass he’d been wiping.

“Wooyoung?” Jimin murmurs, taking a glance around the tavern. “Talk to me.”

“Jimin-hyung,” Wooyoung says again. He slips his hand into his pocket, reaching for the money he brought with him. It’s enough to pay off Yeonjun’s debt and buy food lasting a month. Wooyoung has been saving it up for years now. Still, he can’t trust himself to deliver it to Yeonjun himself without spilling everything. “Will you pass this along to Yeonjun for me?”

“Why not do it yourself?” Jimin asks, suspicion lacing his voice. He’s giving Wooyoung a piercing look that has him avoiding eye contact. Wooyoung slides the money over the counter.

“Please, hyung,” he says quietly. Willing Jimin to understand. And he thinks Jimin does, finally, his eyes widening and softening in the same moment.

“Wooyoung,” Jimin says, and he sounds so sad, so crushed, that Wooyoung has to turn his head away. “My little Wooyoungie, I don’t know what you’re planning, but please be careful. Please.”

“I will, hyung,” Wooyoung tells him. “I promise.”

Jimin lets out a sigh. Wooyoung watches as he searches for something behind the counter, curious. Jimin’s holding something in his hands when he stands back up. “I was thinking,” he says, staring down at his closed fist. Wooyoung stays quiet. “I haven’t really worn these in a while. They’re just collecting dust, you know? And somehow, I have a feeling I won’t be seeing you for a while. Take this.”

Wooyoung cups his hands together and it’s earrings that Jimin places in his waiting palms. Dangly, sparkly, and really expensive looking, and is that opal?

“Hyung,” Wooyoung protests. “I can’t—”

“Hey, none of that, this is a gift so you better be grateful,” Jimin says sternly. “And anyway I can't wear those anymore, I’m getting too old.”

Wooyoung stares, because that excuse coming from Jimin of all people? Don’t make him laugh.

“Just take them, you brat, I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Jimin huffs.

“Of course, hyung,” Wooyoung says obediently, fighting a smile. He carefully puts them in, tilting his head one side to other and taking note of the slight weight.

Jimin watches him. “You look good,” he says softly, “Wooyoungie.”

“Hm?” Wooyoung asks. He’s been trying to spy his reflection on a spare pint of beer. 

“Those earrings will keep you safe, so don’t lose them, okay?” Jimin says and Wooyoung is only half listening but he nods anyway.

“Thank you, hyung, for everything,” Wooyoung says and the stool scrapes against the floor as he stands up. “I’ll… see you around.”

“You better,” Jimin tells him.

-

The master calls on him that night. Wooyoung’s heart pounds in his chest, and the dagger is cool against his ankle, tucked away safely in his boot. 

Wooyoung knocks on the door he’s led to. 

“Come in,” the master calls. And Wooyoung doesn’t have to be told twice. He quickly enters. “There he is, my pretty ladybug. And how was your day?”

It’s a trick question. The master doesn’t care, he doesn’t even wait for an answer before he descends upon Wooyoung like a man possessed. Wooyoung can only grit his teeth and bare it, his hand twitches absently. 

The master’s hands rest on his lower back, wrapping around his waist in the cruel imitation of a lover. He’s whispering something in Wooyoung’s ear but he can’t hear it over his own heartbeat. 

“This way, sweetheart,” Byungchul says, leading Wooyoung to the messy bed in the corner of the room and Wooyoung swallows. He’s nearly there. The master sits on the edge, the bed protesting his weight with a squeak. “Strip,” the master says. 

Wooyoung considers it for a moment. This is it. He starts to unbutton his blouse. The master’s eyes never falter. He has to make it quick. The moment he takes out the dagger it has to be in the master’s back—or his chest, Wooyoung’s not that picky.

Wooyoung unties his left boot first, the empty one. He slides it off with an inaudible sigh. His hands start to shake on the laces of his right boot and he nearly curses. The stare of the master has never felt so unrelenting, so piercing than in this exact moment. 

Then the dagger comes free and Wooyoung _moves_. The master is caught off guard for maybe a second before he’s wrestling with Wooyoung. The master has both height and weight on Wooyoung, and most likely experience as well. But Wooyoung has pure desperation and rage on his side, so it’s anyone’s game.

“I knew it,” the master sneers, “I knew it would be you. And even after all I’ve done for you, you ungrateful slut!”

“All you’ve done for me is give me a reason to kill you,” Wooyoung says furiously and he’s straddling the master, both hands on the dagger as he pushes down towards the master’s chest. The only thing stopping him is the master’s bruising grip on his wrists. 

“What is it you truly want, money?” The master asks, between pants. “I can get you more if I’m alive.”

“It’s not your money I want,” Wooyoung spits, increasing the pressure of his handling. “I want you and your men dead!”

“What?” The master says.

“Don’t play dumb,” Wooyoung tells him. Even if the master is so good at it. “I know what that tattoo on your back means. I want all of you _dead_!”

“W-wait, Wooyoung, you’re—” the master starts, his eyes go wide with fear and what must be recognition, Wooyoung smirks with satisfaction. He’s going to remember this moment forever. He’s going to look back on this fondly. He’s going to absolutely _savor_ this. 

“I’m Jung Wooyoung,” he tells him. “You know, of the Jung family your friends murdered?

The master is shaking beneath him and for once it’s not out of pleasure. Wooyoung grins and thinks he’s maybe enjoying this a little too much. It’s no matter, he pushes the dagger further until it’s scratching at the tunic of the master. 

It’s a few seconds of limbo, where Wooyoung doesn’t let up and Byungchul holds him back. But Wooyoung is unexpectedly halted, and the hands wrapped around his wrists become unbearably tight. Wooyoung hisses. 

“I can’t keep this up anymore,” the master says. And again he’s shaking but this time it’s accompanied with the sound of laughter. Wooyoung gapes in horror and disbelief and tries to slam the dagger down in one last attempt but the master is pushing back at Wooyoung with a previously unused strength.

The master flips them over, so Wooyoung’s the one on his back. Fury sits high on Wooyoung’s cheeks as he desperately struggles against the master. The master laughs again. 

“My little Wooyoungie,” and Wooyoung shivers, out of both fear and disgust. Only Jimin can call him that how _dare_ — “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?”

Wooyoung lets out a shriek of anger as he continues his struggles, the dagger he had is thrown carelessly to his left as the master holds him down, smiling. 

“I knew who you were the moment I saw you,” Byungchul says. “That little boy who watched as his parents die was all grown up. I considered killing you,” the master pets Wooyoung’s cheeks and lets out a laugh when Wooyoung snaps his teeth at him. “But really, you grew up to be a beauty. I couldn’t let this opportunity pass.”

“I’ll kill you,” Wooyoung snarls, “I’ll kill you!”

“I’m starting,” the master says calmly, “to get a little annoyed with you.”

Wooyoung could almost cry, he’s struggling so hard. He lets out an indignant scream again, he’s so furious and there’s nothing to take it out on he’s held down so tightly. The master slaps a hand on his mouth.

“I’ve been indulging you all night,” he says, sounding somewhat bored and Wooyoung growls against his palm. “But if you don’t shut up I’ll have to punish you.”

Now it’s Wooyoung’s turn to laugh. As if the master has anything to punish him with. Wooyoung has lived through it all. Nothing can scare him anymore. _Try me_ he wants to say.

The master sneers. “Don’t believe me?” He says. “I guess that means you don’t mind me spending a night with your little blue haired friend. Yeonjunnie, was it?”

And it’s like ice water was poured on Wooyoung’s back, the fury instantly leaves his body. Panic blares through his mind. Not Yeonjun, he can’t have Yeonjun. 

“Don’t worry,” Byungchul croons, leaning into Wooyoung’s ear. Wooyoung is too frozen to even think about tilting away. “I've already tried him. He’s not as good as you, of course, but he’s good at begging. I'll give him that.”

Wooyoung flails uselessly. _Shut up_ he wants so desperately to scream. The angle of the palm on his mouth makes it impossible for him to bite down, Wooyoung is helpless and he _hates_ it. 

“He didn't have your threshold for pain either,” Byungchul says, calm, as though they were merely talking about the weather. “But he bruised so beautifully. “

Wooyoung doesn’t like the past tense, in fact he hates it as much as he hates the master. He kicks up, aiming for—

“Urk!” Byungchul says and he’s clutching at his groin and Wooyoung can’t even waste a second to be satisfied, he launches himself to the tossed aside dagger and holds it out in front of him.

Byungchul raises his hands slowly, Wooyoung’s grip shakes a bit as he points the dagger at him. 

“Your first mistake was murdering my parents,” Wooyoung says, and his voice is cracking so bad but he doesn’t care. “Your last mistake was touching Yeonjun.”

“Oh, Wooyoungie,” the master murmurs. He smiles and the yellow of his teeth mock Wooyoung. “Your dramatics were cute at first, but it’s going too far now.” Byungchul knocks on the nightstand in a rhythm too specific to be anything but a signal.

Guards rush into the room and Wooyoung’s mind whirls at the thought that this was set up. Byungchul looks smug and Wooyoung fights down a frustrated noise.

But then he sees him— “Yeonjun!” Wooyoung blurts out. 

His friend is held between two guards, practically limp. His head, previously down, lifts up at the sound of his name, and Wooyoung sucks in a breath at the sight of his face, which is muddled with bruises. His lip is split and he’s got a black eye. The worst part, Wooyoung thinks, fighting down nausea, is the angry red outline of fingers splashed across his neck. 

“Youngie,” Yeonjun says, so quiet, and there’s a slight lift of his lips that has tears springing to Wooyoung’s eyes. 

“This reunion is touching and all,” the master interrupts. “But let’s get to business, shall we?”

Wooyoung bites his lip to stop an angry snap. He can read the room. It’s not looking good.

“My Wooyoungie wants his friend safe,” Byungchul says, staring pointedly, and Wooyoung gives a stiff nod. “Well we want something too. And if you can deliver this something to me, I will free Yeonjun. If not, well…I’ll own one less dancer either way.”

Wooyoung’s throat is dry when he tries to swallow. He’s being extorted, blackmailed, coerced, and there’s nothing he can do but accept the master’s terms. He won’t, _can’t_ , let Yeonjun die for him, he just can’t.

“And just what is this ‘something’?” Wooyoung says around the lump in his throat. It’s as close to an agreement that Wooyoung can allow himself to admit.

Byungchul smiles slowly, smug. “A pretty face and a good sense? My Wooyoungie really has it all.” Wooyoung clenches his fists against his sides. Even submitting to the master, the man has to rub salt into the wound. “We’ve heard whispers of a treasure, hidden far away on some island in the Golden Sea. Bring it to me and I’ll let Yeonjun live.”

Screw you, Wooyoung thinks, screw you, screw you, screw you—

“Unless,” Byungchul says, “you’d rather I kill you both here and now?”

“I’ll do it,” Wooyoung says quickly, through gritted teeth. He has to save Yeonjun, he _has_ to. At any cost.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Byungchul coos, and takes Wooyoung’s chin into his grasp once more. “Now, I know you don’t trust me, and guess what? I don’t trust you either.”

And suddenly, the master slaps something around Wooyoung’s wrist and Wooyoung gasps because it _burns_. Pain shoots up his arm like he’s never felt before. His eyes roll to the back of his skull he thinks he might have blacked out for a moment.

When he opens his eyes his head is resting in Byungchul’s lap, the master running his fingers through his hair in a sick imitation of kindness. He meets Yeonjun’s eyes across the room. Wooyoung nods to him, Yeonjun’s mouth pulls down. 

Wooyoung picks himself up, ignoring the trembling of his arms. Something catches his eyes though. It’s a black band tied around his left wrist, it’s tight and looks almost like it’s molded to his skin. Wooyoung feels his heart sink to his feet.

“Wh—”

“Just a little insurance,” the master says, smiling sickly sweet. He takes Wooyoung’s chin in a hand. “Other than keeping our precious Yeonjun safe, when you bring the treasure back to me I’ll take it off.” He pats Wooyoung’s cheek with his other hand.

Wooyoung clenches his jaw at the indignity of it all, the humiliation—he’s practically being _collared_. He glances down at the band.

“And I wouldn’t try taking it off yourself,” Byungchul says, as if reading his thoughts, “It wouldn’t be very pleasant.” 

The master continues but not before waving off the guards, who leave, dragging Yeonjun with them. Wooyoung watches him go, reaching his hand out as if he could stop them. It’s with his bound arm and Wooyoung quickly cradles it to his chest. The master chuckles.

“When morning breaks you will leave,” Byungchul says, or more like orders. Wooyoung nods absently. “But for now, we might as well have some fun. After all I have no idea how long it will be before I have this chance again.” Wooyoung startles to face him, bile rising in his throat. 

“But,” Wooyoung chokes out. 

“No buts,” the master says, pulling Wooyoung down further on the bed. He’s pressed into the sheets unceremoniously, staring up at the master, who leers at him. “Earn your keep, my little ladybug.”

Wooyoung closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next few chapters will be a bit filler-y, but hopefully i can post chapters faster now that i'm on break, so we get to the cooler parts sooner. thank you for reading!

The sun is unrelenting and bright this early, and there’s not many people on the streets, so it’s easy for Wooyoung to slip down an alley unseen. He pulls up his underwear and pants, and curses as he struggles to button up his blouse, his fingers trembling too much. He lets it be with a sigh, it’s hot as hell out here anyway. Nobody will look twice at him. Wooyoung leans against the cool cobblestone of the building behind him. He takes a moment to himself.

As soon as he had woken up Wooyoung was tossed on the street. He had desperately grabbed at his clothes as the guards escorted him out. He still remembers when he had briefly looked behind him, his heart pounding, and all he could see was the master waving with a smile. How Wooyoung’s cheeks flamed from both humiliation and fury. 

In some ways, he’s better off. He’s free—sort of—and how long has it been since Wooyoung breathed in fresh air? Byungchul kept him and the other performers all but locked up in their tiny sleeping quarters, Wooyoung almost forgot how pretty it was out here. Beyond the shade of the skinny trees that surround the village, the sand looks like it just might go on forever into the distance. Everything was so bright and alive and loud, it’s like a dream. Wooyoung feels momentarily dizzy. He brings up shaky hands to slap at his cheeks gently and breathes in a little better.

It’s a while before Wooyoung lifts himself from the wall, and it’s only because his stomach growls loudly. He doesn’t have any money but it’s okay because he knows where he can get some free food.

“Jimin-hyung,” Wooyoung says, pushing past the closed door. Nobody would even dream of coming to the tavern this early; and it’s technically closed anyway. Jimin’s alone at the bar but he whips around to face Wooyoung as soon as the words reach him. Wooyoung can’t help but snicker a bit at his surprised expression. 

“Wooyoung!” Jimin cries. He quickly launches himself at Wooyoung, who stumbles back a bit with an oof. Jimin pays no mind, arms wrapped around him tightly and with seemingly no intention to let Wooyoung go.

“I’m okay, hyung,” Wooyoung says softly. He knows he had scared Jimin with that conversation yesterday, he just didn’t think Jimin would get this shaken up over it. 

“You had me so worried,” Jimin says, tucking Wooyoung further into his chest with one hand and patting the back of his neck with the other. “I thought that would be the last time I saw you.”

Wooyoung thought so too, but he doesn’t say it, he can’t when Jimin’s like this. 

Jimin pulls back after a moment, but his hands rest on Wooyoung’s biceps. He looks at him with searching eyes. “What did you do, my little Wooyoungie?”

Wooyoung finds it hard to swallow over the lump suddenly caught in his throat. He glances down at the band wrapped around his wrist briefly but when he looks back up at Jimin, he’s already found it, staring with an open mouth. 

“Wooyoung, what’s—” Jimin cuts himself off. His eyes are wide and Wooyoung brings his arm to his chest, protective.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles. Louder, he says, “I-I messed up. I need your help, hyung.”

Jimin licks his lips and it’s so clear that he wants to ask. Or maybe he already knows what it means. Somehow, Jimin always seems to just _know_.

“What do you know about the Treasure of the Golden Sea?” Wooyoung asks bluntly, and he can feel Jimin stiffen. 

“Where did you hear about that? It-it’s fake, just a stupid rumor, Wooyoungie,” Jimin says. “There’s no such thing.” Liar, Wooyoung thinks, Jimin is without a doubt the worst liar he’s ever seen. 

“Byungchul doesn’t think so,” Wooyoung tells him, and Jimin gasps. Wooyoung sees the wheels turning in his head, piecing together what must’ve happened last night. Wooyoung takes pity on him. “I’m under orders to find it and bring it back to him.”

“No!” Jimin shouts fiercely and Wooyoung is momentarily startled. “He can’t, you can’t, Wooyoung it’s too dangerous and there’s no—!” He cuts himself off.

“You just said the treasure wasn’t real, hyung,” Wooyoung says quietly. A multitude of emotions flit over Jimin’s face, and he eventually settles on resignation.

“I-I’ve heard of it, a hidden treasure whose contents are far beyond anyone’s imagination,” Jimin says, and his hands release their grip on Wooyoung’s biceps, only to cup his face gently. Wooyoung can’t help but lean into the touch. Jimin continues, “but it’s too dangerous,” he repeats.

“I have no choice, hyung,” Wooyoung says, tears welling up in his eyes without his consent. He looks away. “He has Yeonjun and if I don’t—if I don’t bring the treasure back—” Wooyoung can’t even finish the sentence.

He hears Jimin suck in a breath. “And the bracelet?”

“Insurance,” Wooyoung answers, clenching his jaw as he remembers the burning sensation. “It’s enchanted somehow. I can’t take it off myself, it has to be him.”

“That bastard,” Jimin spits and it’s said with so much venom that Wooyoung can almost taste it. He can’t stop the watery smile from creeping on his face. Jimin’s protective nature is usually exasperating but right now Wooyoung is comforted by it.

“What do I do, hyung?” Wooyoung asks quietly, after a moment of silence. “I-I have no way out of the desert and even if I did, I have no idea where the Golden Sea is! W-will I have to sail there for that matter? Jimin-hyung how will I even get a boat?” The tears flow over this time despite Wooyoung’s attempt to stifle them. He hasn’t felt this helpless in a long time. He hasn’t allowed himself to cry in a long time.

The next thing Wooyoung knows is Jimin pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Wooyoung hooks his chin over his shoulder and returns the embrace without a thought, letting out a sob he can’t quite choke down.

“Sh, sh, Wooyoungie,” Jimin murmurs, and he’s petting Wooyoung’s head absently. “You must be hungry, aren’t you? Let’s eat breakfast first, how about that?”

Wooyoung can’t trust his voice right now so he settles for nodding.

-

Wooyoung has to admit, he does feel better after getting some food in him. Still his appetite is small enough that Jimin gives him pointed looks.

“You should finish that,” Jimin murmurs.

Wooyoung pushes the dish aside, it can’t be helped. “‘M not hungry,” he says.

“Wooyoung—” Jimin says, and Wooyoung doesn’t let him finish, instead standing up from the stool with a scraping sound.

“I should go now,” Wooyoung says and thinks of Yeonjun. “Get this over with.”

“‘Get this over with?’” Jimin hisses and it freezes Wooyoung in his tracks. “Wooyoung, this is serious, you—you could _die_ on this journey.”

“I know hyung, but, if I live while failing to deliver the treasure—” _then Yeonjun dies,_ he thinks, _and if Yeonjun dies, what does Wooyoung have to live for?_ he doesn’t say out loud.

“I know,” Jimin says, “I get it, I really do, but Wooyoung you’re all skin and bones. You can’t honestly think you’re in any condition to search for treasure like this.”

And, and look, Wooyoung knows he has a temper, he knows that, but even then he’s never felt as angry as he is now. Furious tears well up in his eyes. “I don’t have a choice!” He yells. “I have to save Yeonjun. I _have to!_ ” and his voice is choked off. This time, however, he does not allow himself to cry. He has no time for it. 

This morning was the first time he can remember waking up without Yeonjun by his side.

“Oh, Wooyoungie,” Jimin says and it’s the second time today that he’s tucking Wooyoung into his arms. Wooyoung doesn’t deserve Jimin, and he especially doesn’t deserve to be coddled while Yeonjun wastes away under the master’s “care”. Wooyoung can’t help his breath hitch once again at the thought. “It’s okay,” Jimin tries for comfort, fluttering a hand up and down Wooyoung’s back. 

He holds Wooyoung like that for a while, until his breathing settles and the tears he never let fall dry up.

“Stay with me,” Jimin says. “Here at the tavern, at least for a week. Get some food in you, and we’ll make a plan. Just—just for a week.”

“Hyung…” Wooyoung says, swallowing thickly. 

Jimin cuts him off. “You said it yourself, Wooyoungie, you walk out that door and what’s next? Do you even know how to get out of the desert?”

Wooyoung shakes, can’t stop the trembling of his arms and legs because he knows Jimin is right. He leaves like this and he’s as good as dead, and that makes Yeonjun as good as dead. A plan sounds good, some food sounds good. 

He takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, “A week.”

-

Jimin lives in an apartment a few houses down from the tavern and he escorts Wooyoung there but not until he teaches him how to mix a few drinks—for appearance’s sake Jimin says. 

The apartment is tiny and cramped, Wooyoung guesses the master pays his barkeep in dust just the same as his dancers, but even then there’s obvious signs of life and care throughout the apartment. It’s full of trinkets and photographs, some of Jimin with strangers and sometimes just the strangers themselves. Not for the first time, Wooyoung wonders what Jimin did before he became a barkeeper.

“You’ll take the bed,” Jimin says as he leads Wooyoung further into the building.

Wooyoung immediately protests. “I can’t do that, I’m your guest, hyung—”

“That’s the exact reason _why_ you get the bed, Wooyoungie,” Jimin says, his voice exasperated. “And besides it’s just for a week. I don’t mind the couch, so please, take the bed.”

Wooyoung doesn’t know how to tell Jimin that he’s used to sleeping on uncomfortable surfaces to the point where it’s hard for him to fall asleep on a soft one. And besides that, soft beds have this horrible habit of reminding Wooyoung of—of things. Some not so fun to remember things. 

But it's too embarrassing to admit out loud, even to someone like Jimin, so Wooyoung holds his tongue and nods his head. 

“I’ll be back later tonight, or early morning,” Jimin says. Jimin and Wooyoung had quickly realized Wooyoung could not be at the bar on show nights where he might run into the master or other dancers, like tonight. “There’re snacks in the pantry, some meat and bread for dinner too. Help yourself. Please.” He gives Wooyoung a pointed look-over and Wooyoung flushes in embarrassment, it’s like being scolded by his mother or something of the sort. But it’s not his fault the master likes to keep his dancers ‘slim and pretty’. 

“Okay, hyung,” Wooyoung says dutifully. 

Jimin stares at him, to the point where Wooyoung has to keep himself from squirming under his gaze. “I’ll be back,” he finally says, repeating himself. He turns to the door and reaches for the handle, but before he opens it he pauses. “There’s a knife under the pillow,” he says quietly, head bowed so Wooyoung has no way of reading his expression. “Stay safe.”

“You too,” Wooyoung says through the lump in his throat. The door shuts gently in the background but Wooyoung can’t help but think about the knife under Jimin’s pillow. Wonders if that’s why Jimin understands him so well.

Wooyoung keeps out of the bedroom as long as he can. Plays cards with himself on the tiny table in the corner of the living room. He even makes himself a sandwich when the sun outside dips low, Jimin would be proud. 

He can’t relax like Jimin wants him to, it feels like his heart might burst out of his chest at any moment. He can’t stop his leg from bouncing underneath the table and he’s bit his nails to hell. It’s like torture, maybe even worse than the anticipation before a show. At least then he’d have Yeonjun as company.

Wooyoung shuffles the deck again. He’s trying to remember a game one of his customers had taught him long ago. Something about getting to twenty-one without going over. 

The stars are shining outside of Jimin’s window. He wonders if they’ve always been so bright, he wonders if they’ll look even brighter on the sea.

A sudden knocking on the door interrupts his thoughts and Wooyoung freezes, he doesn’t dare make a sound. It couldn't be Jimin, who took his key with him, he’s sure of it. The knocking only grows louder and more violent. Wooyoung stands up from the chair carefully and dashes to Jimin’s bedroom. He flips up the pillow to find the knife just where Jimin said it was. 

Wooyoung’s heart beats wildly in his chest as he approaches the front door. He can do this.

In the next second, the door is kicked open.

**Author's Note:**

> rather intense first chapter, huh? if it was confusing good. it was supposed to be lol. but maybe if you leave some comments i could clear some stuff up~ thank you for reading!


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